


For the Present

by longsufferingsigh



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Anxiety, BDSM, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Family Issues, Humor, M/M, Marriage, Misunderstandings, Old Sith in Love, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pre-class story, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, body piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 22:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13327356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longsufferingsigh/pseuds/longsufferingsigh
Summary: Despite his fondness of revelries, Vowrawn cares very little for his own birthday. Marr ventures out the shell of his armor to provide some incentive. They both get more than they bargained for.





	For the Present

From: Darth Vowrawn  
Subject: Expiration Date

OFFICIAL ENCODED IMPERIAL CORRESPONDENCE  
SENSITIVITY: EXTREME

My darling. My guardian angel. My jolly red giant. That fateful day is upon us again. My own flesh and blood descend upon me tonight. Deliver me from torment or I shall be robbed blind and left to wander the jungles in perfect, naked melancholy for the rest of my days. 

No time for maths, politics, or superb bants.

Because as previously stated, I will be busy wandering naked. 

\-- Vowrawn

[attachment=image=transcript: You are cordially invite to attend a birthday celebration at...]

* * *

Darth Marr leans back in his office chair with a sigh.

Vowrawn has never been shy in his overtures. Frankly after all the years they spent together his tricks were becoming transparent but Vowrawn only saw that as a challenge and never wavered. Oh, he'd long gotten under his armor-- under his mask-- now all that remained was getting under his skin.

Never let it be known that Vowrawn is an unimaginative man. 

The amount of forethought and audacity to tack a birthday invitation as vital Imperial data through the black cipher... 

Marr closes the inbox and sets down the datapad with an air of finality.

Ridiculous to even contemplate such an idea. Exposing himself to the machinations of high society is begging for trouble. There is more to accomplish focusing his attention on the homefront than dithering in an overbloated farce. 

Marr looks over at the datapad.

It's not as if he'll know any other guests. What would he even do while he hangs on Vowrawn's every whim? He can't eat in public and he certainly won't stoop to poking a bendy straw past his mask for a drink no matter how many times Vowrawn has tried. 

Marr opens his inbox again.

Vowrawn has sent him invitations to social events before and Marr has always cited work as an excuse. Never once did it invoke disapproval. Why should this be any different?

Marr's eyes trace each letter, imagining how Vowrawn's plummy voice wraps around each word.

He has nothing to give that Vowrawn cannot easily possess.

He has... he has...

He has nothing to wear. 

Two hours and three clothes piles later, Marr contemplates death.

He had his share of revelries and elbow-rubbing a long time ago. He paid his dues. He knew the costs of withdrawing into the shell of his armor. And while Vowrawn has argued the contrary, Marr firmly believes there is more power in being a symbol than a man. 

Grumbling, Marr pulls off yet another starched shirt and tosses it aside. Symbols shouldn't have to struggle between pinstripes or floral. He holds two button-down shirts in front of him, inspecting the shape and color against his umber brown skin only to toss them on top of the pile. 

Hmph. Perhaps if he appalled Vowrawn's sensibilities, he might be permitted to retire early. He shuffles through his closet with some good cheer but it dampens when he realizes Vowrawn's retribution would be just as petty.

He selects a gray cable-knit turtleneck and pulls it over his head. There. Cozy and familiar. He slips into a cobalt-blue suit and gives his lapels a firm tug as he eyes himself in the mirror. The blazer pinches his joints but the trousers fit comfortably. It will do. He's hollowed out his closet anyhow.

His eyes flick to a necklace arranged on his desk.

After they'd settled comfortably in each other's lives, Vowrawn had given him a simple necklace-- an inscribed disc hanging from a gold chain. No fanfare. No explanation. Just the odd, crooked smile as he pulled it from his robe and pressed it into Marr's hand. There was no mistaking the stylized tree-and-sunburst design as Vowrawn's family crest. Marr had seen it everywhere from formal documents to plaques on public works. The depths of its significance were unfathomable but Vowrawn's motives were even more so. 

Yet each time Marr broached the topic, Vowrawn always wriggled away. 

All he knows for certain is that it guarantees Vowrawn's heartfelt smile. That is reason enough to wear it.

By the time he's ready, it's long past the appointed time and he sits in the backseat of a taxi cab twiddling with his mechanical rebreather. He dare not risk anyone identifying him, whether by the designation of his personal shuttle or his voice. 

Vowrawn's invitation brings him to the outskirts of Kaas City. 

Marr feels a patch of cold sweat on the back of his neck when he spots the twisting durasteel skyscraper in the distance. It is maddening that something like this should unnerve him after all his battlefield expertise but he cannot stop fidgeting with the necklace no more than he could stop doubting his receding hairline. (He should have shaved it all off before coming. Damn. _No!_ It would never grow back. What if Vowrawn commented on its absence? Now where would that leave him? Damn!) 

The taxi droid had insisted the waypoints closest to his destination were crammed due to an influx of people and rather than argue, Marr opted to close the distance on foot. 

There has never been any reason for him to venture this far from the capital until now. Not that the inhabitants this side of the city would have made it compelling for any non-Pureblood. The huge stone walls partitioning the district made their message quite clear. 

Marr is acutely aware how much he sticks out like a sore thumb as Purebloods mill past him like water around stone. He passes enormous felines poised on either side of the gate, guardians made stone, darkened and burnished by the barrage of Kaasi rain and time. He half expects them to twist around and pounce upon him snarling "outsider, outsider, outsider". No other word feels more appropriate. 

He fixes his gaze squarely on the tall structure and walks briskly beneath the smattering of evening rain. The night is pleasantly warm and a fragrance of jasmine and spices lingers in the air. Most shops have shuttered their windows and doors but pubs and resturants thrive noisily amidst streetlights and neon signs. A trio of drunken young Sith stumble by Marr hiccuping through laughter and slurred jokes. As Marr approaches the the square, he passes a female Pureblood perched on the lip of a fountain, nibbling on grilled fish and watching the jikan peck the ground for scraps.

Purebloods swarm about the entrance to the apartment building by the dozens, forming a queue out the front door. All of them are bedecked in finery fit for the occasion and all of them wear varying degrees of displeasure on their faces.

Vowrawn mentioned having a large family. 

Like all his endeavors, it was an incredible understatement.

Marr wonders if this is Vowrawn acting out of spite. 

The line moves at a sluggish pace and when Marr peers above the crowd, he understands why. In the foyer, Lord Qet takes up position directly between two turbolifts, wearing the bare minimum with his black dress shirt and slacks. Even his gold bow-tie seems like an afterthought. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he doesn't hide the contempt from his face as he screens guests and snaps orders to other harried young Sith Lords. A pair of identical twins hover close at his elbow awaiting instruction when someone breaks from the queue and storms up to them. 

A male Pureblood with a topknot thrusts a datacard under Qet's nose with a scowl. "Enough is enough," he says. "It's been hours and I've barely scraped past the front door. Is this anyway to treat your master's own cousin?"

Qet holds the datacard between two fingers and eyes it like an insect. He looks at the man with even less pleasure. "In-law," he says flatly. 

"Excuse me?"

"Cousin-in-law. My master has over forty cousin-in-laws and they all must abide by house rules. Blood family takes precedence, then their spouses, then the spouse's family, and on and on it goes. Now..." He holds out the man's designation. "Please return to the queue in a calm and orderly fashion, milord." 

The Pureblood clearly has no intentions of doing so and Marr can see the other guests pointedly close the gap he had occupied.

"You insolent brat! Do you have any idea who I am? What I can do? I'll have words with your master about--"

Qet drops his attention back to his datapad. "Inciting disorder goes against house rules, Lord Jibaal."

"Inciting disorder? I am not some petty petitioner in--"

"Will you two please escort Lord Jibaal off the premises."

Wordlessly, the twins close on both sides, seizing Jibaal under his arms and hauling him towards the door, ignoring his squawks of outrage. Marr deftly avoids one of his kicking feet as they pass and watches in disbelief as they dump Jibaal by the curbside in a heap of black silk. Was Vowrawn even aware what his apprentices were up to downstairs? 

In the span of all this, Qet continues droning an honesty affirmation agreement to the heavy-eyed female Pureblood he had been attending to. She looks ready to drop into a coma. So Jibaal's attitude was not unfounded, after all, but Jibaal's example would keep order.

Marr has come this far. Bureaucracy will not be his enemy tonight. He takes a step out the queue and a murmur ripples through the crowd as he makes his way to the front. His ears burn in embarrassment as he feels their gaze rove on his face but his steps are sure and resolute.

Qet lets out a long-suffering sigh but doesn't look up until they're practically toe to toe. "Already? How many times must I--" His eyes lock on the gold pendant hanging on on his chest and his mouth parts. Almost immediately, his eyes dart to Marr's face.

Marr's stomach dips unpleasantly under Qet's scrutiny but he straightens and keeps his gaze steady and narrowed. Qet is only several centimeters shy of his own height but Marr fully intends to utilize the difference.

At last Qet exchanges a look with either twin. They shrug at him. 

"Er... the next lift is yours, sir," he says stiffly and the room explodes in a chorus of outrage. Qet bows but any deference in the act is diminished by his sour look. Try as he might to save face, Marr pinpoints Qet's confusion and seething resentment like a flash of steel in darkness. Ever since Vowrawn took him on, Qet had been the very soul of professional-- even when it became apparent that Darth Marr's relationship with his master was not. To face such animosity is... jarring.

By the time the turbolift arrives to carry him to the penthouse, Qet looks ready to beat the next offending guest with his datapad. The twins have pointedly stepped out of his reach. Before the doors close, Marr notices the other attendees looking remarkably well-behaved. 

The lift rockets upwards and Marr feels as though he's left his stomach on the ground floor. He wishes the lift is to blame. He feels naked. Vulnerable. The foyer was only a taste of what is to come. There is no vanishing in a crowd in close quarters. There is no avoiding conversation without stepping on toes. 

He twines his necklace around his trembling fingers and pulls until blood pulses in his fingertips, until it cuts, until he bleeds, but not even pain mitigates his rising terror. 

He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't h--

The silence is punctuated by a cheery ding and the doors slide open. 

Marr swallows thickly and steps out directly into the penthouse living room, eyes adjusting to the dazzling lights, and smooth jatz greeting him like an old friend. He casts his gaze around the room in wonder. The enormous room is divied up into three floors with floating staircases leading up to transparisteel mezzanines. Large, segmented windows dominate the walls and provide a panorama of the entire district. The antique furniture stands at odds with the modern architecture but not a thing feels out of place. 

Marr wishes he can say the same.

He isn't the only human here but it is a paltry consolation when he towers above them all.

Marr toes out of his shoes and looks around for a place to tuck them away when a servant (slave, Marr reminds himself, no amount of finery disguises such unsettling docility) materializes before him and replaces them with a pair of fine slippers. Well. His Pureblood etiquette is lacking but at least he won't make a complete arse of himself right off the bat.

Despite the queue he left behind, the penthouse is only partly full. How strange. 

Marr senses suddenly flare and he automatically seizes a small shape before it can bowl him over. A Pureblood girl, barely level with his hip, squirms in his arms and he lets her go with a soft spoken apology. She wears her own gold necklace, a magenta ensemble, and a scowl as she stares up at him. Then her eyes lower to his necklace and her expression clears.

"Good evening, uncle!" She presses her hands together and bows slightly. Then she cups her hands and holds them up to him, half bouncing on the tips of her toes in excitement. 

He looks down at her uncertainly. Wrapping his mind around the complexity of Pureblood culture is an ongoing process and Marr still has trouble recalling nomenclatures. Did kinship terms extend to any elder? Was he expected to bring some sort of tribute as well? 

"Everyone always gives me money," she says brightly. "So you have to!"

"Is that so?" 

"Mhm. Lots and lots of money." She hesitates and adds almost like an afterthought. "It's tradition."

Marr's hand creeps into his jacket to pull out his emergency credit chip but something in her expression gives him pause. The girl is the picture of innocence but Marr can see Vowrawn's old tells in the subtle tightening of her face. His eyes narrow. Mischief must run rampant in the family. 

"Remind me, young one..." He crosses his arms instead. "What are the tenants of Sith tradition?"

She heaves a long-suffering sigh and answers in a bored monotone as she ticks off her fat fingers. "Uphold order. Uphold the greater good. Uphold family." 

"Are you not committing a disservice to your heritage?"

She shakes her head.

"No?"

"The greater good is giving me money," she declares. 

Marr is thankful the rebreather hides his face-splitting grin. 

"Shivara, you little sneak! You leave that gentleman alone!" A young male Pureblood stumbles through a dance floor, his expression twisted in fury and mortification. The girl, Shivara, scurries off as though someone lit a match under her bum, disappearing into a gaggle of other Pureblood children before they scatter around the room. Servants-- _slaves_ \--struggle not to trip over them as they drift between party goers with platters of drinks and finger foods. 

The young man halts in front of Marr with a frustrated groan. "Whatever she said is a lie. My sister has been trying to swindle credits all night." He shakes his head and offers a hand. "Forgive me. I don't think we've met, I'm--"

The moment Marr drops his arms to accept his handshake, the young man's crimson complexion blanches at the sight of his pendant. Marr stands there stiffly, arm half-raised and frozen, when the young man suddenly bows deeply at the waist. 

"A thousand apologies, my lord, if I had known who you were I-- please do not think we condone such behavior!" Fear colors his voice. "Shivara is prone to flights of fancy b-but should she ever disgrace the family name again, punishment will be meted out--"

"That will not be necessary," Marr interrupts. 

"B-be that as it may, we--" The young man continues to scrape and bow, a staple Marr has long been accustomed to. In his armor. Panic bubbles beneath the veneer of calm even as he coaxes the Pureblood from the brink of tears. Had he been he been recognized already? Was every occupant in the room playing him for a fool? Were they preparing to sink their teeth into him?

An insidious thought brushes his mind: had Vowrawn betrayed his confidence?

Marr shies away from the idea before it can take root. Vowrawn's nephew is practically pissing himself. He requires attention. Good. A goal. A distraction. Marr cannot allow himself to be his own enemy in unfamiliar territory. He cannot allow fear to compromise years of carefully built trust. Not now. Not ever. 

Vowrawn deserves the benefit of the doubt.

Marr ushers the distressed young man to the bar, thrusting a brimming glass of sherry into his shaking hands and leaving him in the care of tipsy cousins. Marr sidles into a dim corner and the illusion of privacy steadies his breathing and sharpens his focus. He reaches out through the Force to search for Vowrawn's signature but, to his dismay, it is lost among a pattern of similar design. The differences in Force signatures are so subtle, so nuanced, Marr would have more luck finding a needle in a haystack. 

Damn. 

The old-fashion way would have to make do. With a sigh, Marr wades through twirling dancers, passes the jatz quartet tucked under the stairwell, and ascends the staircase. 

He explores the branching hallways of the second-floor living quarters, professional curiosity driving him to inspect open doorways and half-hidden nooks. He must be thorough after all, but no amount of explaining is enough to quell the annoyance of teenage introverts, the confusion of sleepy elders, or the fury of couples caught mid-coitus. Marr makes a beeline for the stairs when shoes, pillows, and insults hurl at him. 

Marr heaves a sigh when he spies rows and rows of holobook shelves on the third-floor, and turns his back to them to scan the entirety of the bottom floor from above instead of venturing into a certifiable maze. Vowrawn will have dressed for the occasion which makes finding him difficult already but it certainly doesn't help that most if not all the Purebloods here carry a strong resemblance. He mistakes three men for Vowrawn-- and earned himself more stares for what it was worth-- before pity inspires a portly, middle-aged Pureblood to come to his aid. 

"Looking for someone?" he opens with a toothy smile.

Marr stiffens. "I'm sure he is here somewhere."

"Taken a gander downstairs yet?"

"Indeed."

"Both floors?"

"Both."

"No luck?"

"None."

"Oh. Are you sure?"

Marr narrowly avoids rolling his eyes before remembering he has no mask to safely hide it. "I'm sure."

"Shame." As like the others, the man gazes at his pendant with a strange expression on his face. "What brings you here tonight?"

"I was invited."

" _Yes_ but that happens for everyone. I would have imagined-- what with you and..." The man gestures vaguely towards the crowd. "Unless this is a recent development? I'm not terribly up to speed with news lately. Just wiped my hands of Balmorra, you see. Absolutely hideous place. Did you know it's infested with insects? Gargantuan things. A good orbital bombardment ought to burn them out. Maybe add some shine to the surface you know? Why, just the other day--"

Marr contemplates death. 

He tries to extract himself but the man ("Call me Darth Haskrai!") follows Marr around the penthouse like a clucking hen, halting him at every turn to introduce other family members to him. While many of them speak with a detached politeness, some of them share Haskrai's enthusiasm and it takes a conscious effort not to defend himself when they snatch him into a handshake, pat his back, or-- _stars above_ \-- hug him. 

"If we had known you were in attendance, we would have brought other gifts to commemorate the good news," says another young male Pureblood. He purses his lips, jutting out his lower lip piercing, and turns to his wife in mild exasperation. "How did we miss such an important announcement?"

She frowns. "I have heard nothing of the sort. A surprise then?"

Haskrai chortles. "I wouldn't put it past the old ham."

"But it isn't proper, uncle," the young man insists. "There are rules about this. He cannot dispense centuries of tradition for one man!" 

Marr shifts his weight from foot to foot, uncertain. "If I have in anyway offended--"

Haskrai waves a hand dismissively. "It is no fault of your own. You don't know any better."

Distantly, Marr wonders if _he_ ought to be offended.

"But how long have you had this arrangement?" the niece asks. "Isn't it a bit... overdue?"

Marr's brow furrows and he racks his brain for the timestamp of Vowrawn's message. "Late this afternoon actually," he says.

They gape at him.

"Just this afternoon? Now? At his age?" she says incredulously. 

"I fail to see how that should matter."

Haskrai claps a hand on his arm with a full-bellied laugh. "Better late than never I suppose! You know this actually reminds of the story about our great-great-great grandmother. Mistook a marriage proposal for a Kaggath. It happens to the best of us, of course, but goodness gracious it was hard to find a suitor after--"

Champange glasses pass through the couple's hands several times as an unending river of stories pours from Haskrai's maw. They make a show of moaning and groaning the agony of boredom but are quick to inject snide comments when their uncle stops to breathe.

Never once do they ask for Marr's name.

Marr had been prepared to introduce himself with his mother's maiden name if pressed but the very concept of candid speech seems almost indecent to them-- particularly the elders. Like Haskrai, they prance around topics as though it were a game and Marr muddles through conversations filled with half-truths, implications, and inside jokes only to leave with more questions than answers. 

"Are you hiding children from us as well?" One matron asks. Her voice is soft with jest but her golden eyes are hard with suspicion. Her sisters turn aside muttering Old Sith to each other. Though Marr can scarcely parse a whole sentence, he doesn't miss the disapproval in their tone. 

"No, my lady, I have no children to hide," Marr replies, raising an eyebrow. 

"Will we expect children soon?" she presses. "The main family must carry on after all. Surely you've been told of the... ah... delicate situation?"

The genial smile vanishes from Haskrai's face. "Now, now. It is to my understanding that no formal announcement has been made. Even so..." He glances at Marr and switches to Old Sith as he speaks at length to the three women. They scowl and retreat to the food table. 

Conversation after conversation whirls past Marr like a hurricane. He takes a grim solace when the attention shifts elsewhere, namely: Vowrawn. Such charm, such pedigree, such a shame-- no respect for the old ways! How far the apple has fallen! The things he's done-- did you hear?-- oh, but _father_ , he must know already-- scandalous! Simply scandalous-- how we shudder-- how we adore him. Our favorite uncle. Our dearest cousin. Gracious with gifts. Wit deadlier than any lightsaber. How pleased we were when he ascended the Dark Council!

Proud, cruel, clever, dishonest, charming Darth Vowrawn. Won't you give him our regard?

Maddening. 

Marr fares much better with the younger generation. He takes a break from his search but the seat of his trousers barely touch a couch cushion before a cluster of newly minted Sith Lords ply him for war stories. Reluctantly, he describes his military campaigns, careful to omit incriminating details. They seem, for the most part, genuinely interested-- even Haskrai manages to hold his tongue and listen-- but his true audience piles at his feet. 

At first the children followed him at a distance, their game of tag shelved in favor of spying on a stranger, but they fled when Marr approached. Only Shivara braved his stare and, with the loftiness of a Sith aristocrat six times her age, implored him to kneel when speaking to her. He complied with a hidden smile and she puffed up with pride. Shivara then touched his bald spot and lamented she could not see her reflection.

The children were beside themselves with laughter and took to him like a verbal punching bag only to be placated and won over when he spoke of his encounters with Jedi. Shivara even offered him a comfortable pillow (before demanding a payment of fifty credits).

"Did Jedi hurt you, uncle?" Shivara flattens her hand against his rebreather. "Do you have an ugly scar?"

"No," Marr says. "This is for... something else."

"Oh. Did you chop Jedi up in itty-bitty pieces then?"

"I could not spare the effort."

"Okay, maybe next time."

Well. 

It is only until Marr is neck-deep in the Battle of Ziost that it occurs to him that he had a plan. That all these keen-eyed faces before him were echoes of his heart's ultimate goal. As far as help is concerned, Haskrai is far from his mind (and far away heckling another poor sod). No. Out of anyone in the penthouse, Marr tentatively places his trust in a little entrepreneur. 

"Young one," he says to Shivara. "You have explored all of the penthouse, correct? Have you seen Darth Vowrawn?" 

She cocks her head. "Maybe? Uncle is very busy. Everyone wants him everywhere."

"When did you last see him?"

Shivara's face scrunches up in thought before she slides off his knee. She shoos her cousins and beckons him to follow her upstairs. Intially, her steps are sure as she navigates the third-floor library but they falter when they round the historical texts and find a nook occupied by other men. They wave their cigarra at them in a half-hearted greeting, not noticing-- or perhaps not caring-- as ashes litter the opulent rug.

Shivara pouts and exchanges a few words with them in Old Sith before looking up at Marr. "He's not here, uncle."

"I can see that."

"No, he's not _here_. He's still in the library. I can take you." She sets off in another direction.

"Will that cost me an additional hundred credits?" There is no heat in Marr's teasing but Shivara whips back and glares daggers at him, sweetness warping into a seething bitterness. 

"Don't make fun of me," she says quietly. "Don't be mean like... like..." Her mouth snaps shut into a mulish frown. 

Only the fear of immediate repercussions could put a stopper on a child's honesty. Marr can venture a guess. "Like Darth Vowrawn?"

Shivara's face tightens. "Mama says I'm not to speak ill of uncle in public. Especially to someone like you."

"Oh?"

"You'll tattle on me," she accuses. "Like papa told mama I broke the vase when he promised not to. I got the stick for a whole day. It _hurt_."

"I highly doubt your uncle will lay a hand on you." Not directly anyhow even if he had the inclination. Children were wildly entertaining to Vowrawn but he was ultimately indifferent about them. 

Shivara gives him an uncertain look. "I don't know..."

"I believe your exact words were: 'everyone wants him everywhere'. He won't have time to." 

She falls into a pensive silence and wrings her hands nervously before continuing to walk. Marr shadows her, waiting patiently until she musters up the courage to speak again, and when she does, her voice is as small as she is. "I don't think uncle likes us very much. He makes mama cry. Sometimes papa, too." 

Marr's mouth tightens. "I see."

"We don't have much money," Shivara says, leading him around a display of orbiting holocrons. "Papa isn't very good at maths and he's not very good at cards. Neither is mama. Uncle has loads of money but he doesn't do anything with it! So he has to share, you see. It's only fair."

"Is that what your parents tell you?"

"Mhm."

Marr's steps slow. "Is that why you've been begging for credits, young one?"

"It's easier to ask everyone else." Shivara shrugs. "Even if they aren't rich like uncle, something is better than nothing. I have a long way to go."

Fleetingly, Marr is reminded of his childhood, scraping by on his mother's lieutenant salary, bartering his jewelry to settle levies, keeping themselves presentable to help her career along until his Force sensitivity manifested. "Your parents should count themselves privileged to have such a devoted daughter," he says.

It is only until Shivara answers him with an incredulous look that he realizes his misstep. 

"Huh? You think this is-- that I'm doing this for them?" She laughs. "It's for me, silly! How can I go to the academy on Korriban without finishing school? My parents-- _really_? Like they won't take it all to go to the casino again. Like big brother won't pinch some when he thinks no one notices. I'm not stupid, uncle."

"I... see." At least Marr had responsible parents. Just the one now but it's more than Shivara can say. He mulls over the emergency credit chip in his pocket once more and nearly trips over her when she screeches to a halt. She ducks down behind an archive of pre-war holomagazines and points at the corner. Cautiously, Marr sticks his head out and looks into what appears to be a lounge. There is a small crowd of Purebloods tucked away inside, many of them minding their own business but most circling a single man. 

Vowrawn. 

They are not shy about bending his ear or jostling him as they are certainly not shy displaying their wealth but they pale beside him.

His plum-purple tunic is a tapestry of gilded brocade, falling to his knees over a pair of creamy white trousers, and cinched at the waist with a crimson sash. His facial jewelry is relatively untouched though he has swapped gold hoops in favor of pearl drop earrings. His hands are encrusted in gold filigree that narrow into a claws almost sharp enough to tear a man's throat open. 

Vowrawn is radiant. Like a lantern in a festival of moths. 

Of course, from his too-wide smiles and cold eyes, it is very possible Vowrawn is preparing for a _funeral_ of moths. Several of them. 

Marr turns to thank Shivara but catches only a glimpse of magenta silk as she flees from the scene. 

Well. She won't be far from his thoughts.

No better opportunity than the present. Marr walks with renewed purpose, sending people scattering from his path, but his steps slow as he approaches the fringe. Interrupting a discussion without invitation is bound to attract unnecessary attention so he places himself in Vowrawn's line of sight and waits. Unfortunately, Vowrawn is assaulted from all sides by agitated relatives and doesn't notice. 

Vowrawn is speaking at length with a plump elderly woman when a Pureblood with long hair, grips him by the elbow and turns him away. "No," he says. "We are not done yet, uncle."

"I imagine not," Vowrawn sighs. 

The crowd tightens around him. A few pairs of eyes glance in Marr's direction suspiciously but much of their grumbling is aimed inwards.

"We are not asking for much," Vowrawn's nephew says, his voice low and tinged with desperation. "Just until we have a foothold... or... or at the very least the house again. Once we collect the income from our assets, we'll be able to offset--" 

"About your assets..." Vowrawn drawls. "Liquidated?"

His nephew falls silent but two women immediately jump to his defense.

"No one could have predicted Taral would scoop up the morgage while we weren't looking--"

"The market for a Kaasi penthouse is--"

Vowrawn screws his eyes shut and endures the fresh barrage of noise with a grimace. 

"-- bleeding us for all we have to hold his tongue--"

"We've already downsized to _two_ country villas. What more could we possibly--"

"How can you be so _selfish_?" 

"-- and now we're falling out the bloody tax bracket like some--"

 _"You have a responsibility to this family!"_

"Your mother would never have--"

"We wouldn't have to keep doing this if you would just cross out a few numbers!" 

Abruptly, Vowrawn holds up a hand for silence and he receives it albeit reluctantly.

"'Cross out a few numbers'... now really, my dear..." Vowrawn regards the teary-eyed woman with feigned bewilderment. "That would be an abuse of power!"

Marr snorts so loudly his rebreather stutters. 

The collective dirty look he receives is so strikingly identical to Vowrawn's, Marr narrowly avoids chuckling. 

Vowrawn turns his head, earrings swaying, and finally notices him. He stares, astonished, but it takes only a fraction of a second until warmth and light enters his eyes. A smile spreads slowly across his face, joy and relief almost palpable, and any reservations Marr ever had is washed away by a surge of affection. 

Vowrawn shoulders his way out from his grumbling relatives, his eyes never straying from his. One or two hands reach out to haul him back but he slinks out of their reach. They glare daggers at Marr but vanish into the library undoubtedly poised to strike again. Hmph. Marr will stand between them and Vowrawn all night if need be. 

Vowrawn sidles up to him, sliding his hands up and down the dark blue lapels of Marr's blazer. "Hello there stranger," he breathed, staring up at him wide eyed. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"You sent for help, did you not? I answered your call."

"Well... yes. I do appreciate it. Truly. I didn't think... in the circumstances--" Vowrawn indicates the party with a passing glance. He seems to search for words but frowns when they escape him.

Marr rests a hand on Vowrawn's lower back, tracing slow circles on his spine. "You expected a mask."

"I was half right then, wasn't I?" Vowrawn pokes at his rebreather. "I wasn't serious when I sent you that message, you know. It was just a bit of fun." 

"You knew you were going to be hounded but you couldn't have known I would come."

"What can I say? I'm an optimist. And do you think I'm incapable of staving off my own family by myself? I've been practicing since I was a little tyke."

"I see."

"But you are here and you... are wearing the necklace?" Bewilderment creeps into Vowrawn's voice. He gawks at the pendant resting squarely over Marr's heart and he peers cautiously over Marr's shoulder. Something compels him to duck his head.

Vowrawn isn't the only one surprised. Marr drops his gaze to the identical necklace hanging from Vowrawn's neck. "You did not tell me it was part of a set," he says guardedly. 

"No, I did not." Vowrawn smiles tightly. "But may I just say, darling, you fill that suit very well?" 

Oh! "Thank you."

"It's dreadfully old-fashioned, of course, but..."

Oh. 

Marr straightens. "Classics are classics for a reason."

Vowrawn laughs in delight and a pleasant warmth spreads from Marr's chest to the very tips of his fingers. He yearns to stroke Vowrawn's face, to run his fingers through his neatly coiffed hair, to ruin it just to see him pout, to give him any excuse to leave so Marr can follow and keep from clutching at him like a lifeline in an stormy sea. But the crowd swells at their intimacy and heated whispers begin to accompany the music. 

Marr drops his hand as though he burned himself.

Vowrawn briefly studies his face before sliding an arm around his waist, guiding him out the lounge towards open balcony doors. "Terribly stuffy in here, isn't it? Some fresh air should do us both a world of good." Marr can barely keep his gratitude contained in a nod.

Several more people vie for Vowrawn's attention but one look sends them scurrying. Marr's breathing eases as they approach the doors. Vowrawn smiles up at him encouragingly but it fades when he notices something beyond Marr.

A tall, whip-thin dame descends upon them like a crimson bird of prey. Only a swirl of blue silk portends her arrival before Marr finds a hand clamped under his jaw.

Reflexively, he seizes her forearm to pull her off but then he stares directly into her liver-spotted, hawkish face, into the burning intent of her eyes-- identical to Vowrawn's-- and he falters, struck by the memory of his mother just as dignified and unrelenting. He bends, meekly allowing the woman to turn his head and inspect his face. A glance in Vowrawn's direction offers no explanation; he merely looks on the spectacle with a narrow-eyed interest.

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, she finally releases him and stands directly in their path. "And what is it you do precisely?" she asks. Her voice is a husky drawl that speaks of an age-old devotion to cigarra. 

"What I...?" Marr glances at Vowrawn but he only gives him a strange smile. "I... work in the Ministry of Defense?"

The wattles of her throat tighten. 

Feeling like a chastised little boy, Marr lowers his eyes respectfully. "I work in the Ministry of Defense, my lady."

"Ah, a fearsome warrior protecting our borders. Have you won many accolades in service to our empire?"

Before the treaty, Marr's correspondence brimmed with invitations to award ceremonies and he remembers ticking them off as spam. Many medals and trophies had been delivered to him only to sit unopened, collecting dust. These days, there are none. Upholding the stability of the empire is his purpose. He might as well reward himself for breathing. 

"Certainly," Marr says at length. 

"He is being modest," Vowrawn interjects. 

"Is that so?" Her mouth twitches into a thin smile. "Then you just might impress Darth Marr."

Vowrawn's eyes nearly bulge out his head. He visibly strains to wrestle down his mirth and manages a tremulous smile by the time she turns to him. If she sensed anything off, there is no indication in her expression. Perhaps she is accustomed to Vowrawn's strange brand of humor.

"You'll put in a good word to Marr, won't you?" she asks. "You've known each other for ages. Surely he can spare one medal or two for such a fine young man."

"Mm."

"And tell him to drop by for a visit. He can't be entirely hideous under all that armor."

"Mm."

"The mumbling," she admonished. "How many times must I tell you: no stammer in grammar--"

Vowrawn bristles. "I am not a child anymore."

She sniffs. "You could have fooled me."

"Shouldn't you be shouting abuse at your chef instead? The roast is an abomination."

She levels a sympathetic look in Marr's direction. "I am of the opinion that you are sorely in need of a permanent divorce."

Marr raises an eyebrow but she carries on before he can voice his confusion.

"Perhaps Marr will be generous," she says. "What with the war in full swing. I, for one, hope the empire can put this business to a speedy end. I have far too many funeral invitations and only so many tailors."

"Oh dear whatever shall I wear? The white dress or the white dress?" Vowrawn parrots her voice with a grin but it vanishes when she reaches out and twists his facial tendril. 

"Please excuse my nephew, he can be an impertinent little shit," she says in a bored voice. 

Vowrawn rubs his cheek with a frown. "It's my birthday."

"That's right..." She smirks. "And how old are you, dear?"

Vowrawn presses his lips together. "I've only just turned forty, auntie, you know this."

"Of course, darling, of course." She pats his arm as though soothing an agitated pet but she exchanges a knowing look with Marr. Vowrawn is lying through his teeth but his age, while always a tightly guarded secret, is not what interests Marr.

Marr cocks his head. "You're his aunt?"

"What, did you think I was his mother?" She throws her head back with a throaty laugh. "I'd have put the fear of _Marserha_ in him. If you think he's impossible now, imagine what he was like when he was younger. Is it any wonder he put his mother into an early grave? The hellion."

"Auntie..." Vowrawn mutters.

"Speaking of curious wonders..." Her eyes linger on Marr's pendant, and though Marr can see a question burning in her eyes, she offers nothing more than her name. "Darth Ananta. Oh, but auntie will suffice. What with you two--"

Marr feels Vowrawn's slim arm tighten on his waist.

"I see you've brought a jatz quartet," Vowrawn interrupts. He cocks his head and listens over the din of the crowd. "The swing is stiffer than grandpapa's mummy-- is that chord a triad?"

Marr furrows his brow in confusion but it is only until he notices the woman's fixed expression that Vowrawn's intentions become clear. 

"Excuse me," she says tersely. She gathers up the hem of her skirt in one hand and marches down the column of shelves. Along the way, Marr spots the same plump woman from earlier latch to Ananta's arm and try to divert her path elsewhere... only to be dragged along downstairs.

"Hag," Vowrawn says fondly. "Poor Aunt Ostia, hitching herself with a force of nature. Just how does she do it?"

Marr gives Vowrawn a sidelong look. "Yes. Funny that." 

"Well! No use dwelling on it. I promised you air. I'll even throw in a scenic view and charming conversation. Aren't you lucky?"

They proceed out into a rectangular balcony, sheltered from the rain with a glass overhang and lined with a long reclining sofa. The penthouse lights bleed out and crest just short of the precipice. Only durasteel railings keep the unwary from plummeting five-hundred meters down so naturally Vowrawn decides to prop against it.

A strained noise of distress escapes Marr's modulator and he quickly closes the distance, sliding his arms around Vowrawn's angular body from behind and pressing close. Any lingering dread in Marr's belly flees, replaced with a comforting balm of peace. He rests his forehead against Vowrawn's ruffled hair, content to stand here all night with him. 

"I swear they are coming out of the woodwork," Vowrawn sighs. "I can't swing a dead cat without hitting one. Look at them all!" He sweeps an arm forward. 

Marr tightens his arms securely around Vowrawn's waist and peers cautiously over the edge, gazing down at the red pinpricks inching into the complex like a winding centipede. "I don't understand," he says. "There is still a great deal of room up here and I have yet to see five or ten of their number arrive."

Vowrawn laughs. "The penthouse can squeeze about thirty-five occupants, counting the little ones. The location was quite deliberate. You see, Qet doesn't just screen them. He keeps them mired in red tape. I've found it's the best way to cull their numbers." 

"I suppose that is one way to demonstrate hatred."

"I don't hate them," Vowrawn says, bemused. 

"No?"

"I hate that I am _beholden_ to them. I do not hate them personally. Why waste the energy?"

"Why bother inviting them at all?"

"Because it is expected. Because it is proper. Because if I was selective with my invitations it implies others are unwelcome, which is impossible. Family is _always_ welcome." Vowrawn scoffs. "Do you see my predicament?" 

"There are others who would count themselves lucky to have a fraction of the family that you have," Marr says pointedly. 

"That's if they manage to separate the wheat from the chaff. Quality, my dear, not quantity." 

"It doesn't bother you that they consider you 'selfish'?"

To his credit, Vowrawn takes it in good stride. "Heard all that, did you?" He chuckles. "They are usually better behaved. However, the fear of bankruptcy can make them do wretched things. Like, say, drive me to bedlam. With all the debt piled up from gambling away their fortune, it's any wonder they haven't thrown themselves off this balcony yet. It's a lot less work."

Gambling? Shivara drifts through Marr's thoughts. "They might have children to provide for..." he says tentatively. 

"Hm? Oh yes. Two of them. The son is a lost cause. Too much like his fool parents." Vowrawn hums thoughtfully. "The daughter... you know, now that you mention it... a little bird has been keeping me appraised of a wandering trickster. A successful one at that. A shame her potential is wasted on them."

"I think you ought to offer a loan."

Vowrawn gives a start and twists around in his arms, his expression incredulous. "Gamblers. Were you not paying attention? I'll be lucky to see a quarter of the reimbursement in ten years time. I might as well throw ingots in the ocean. At least I'd appreciate the artistry then."

"I doubt either method would even dent your bank account."

"Obviously." Vowrawn rolls his eyes. "But it's the principle of the thing. They'll all start beating down my door if they catch wind I'm handing out credits willy-nilly. They'll think I've gone soft."

"An investment then." Frustration threatens to creep into Marr's voice. "I know this isn't your first time grooming prospects." Qet is living proof.

Vowrawn's lips press together and he stares into Marr's face, suspicion lurking behind his idle curiosity. "Why the sudden interest? Are you acquainted with their daughter?" Marr's expression must have betrayed him because Vowrawn suddenly laughs and playfully jabs him in side. "Oh, you big softie! How many credits did she steal?" 

Marr bristles. "She stole nothing. I gave her--"

Vowrawn stifles another bout of laughter in his turtleneck. "'Darth Marr conned by a prepubescent schoolgirl'. The press would have a field day! _Honestly!_ You and children!"

"She is your family," Marr presses on. "You are best equipped to support her. She has potential. You said as much yourself."

"Darling..." The good humor fades from Vowrawn's voice. "The repercussions--"

"Consider it. For me. Please."

Vowrawn lets out a long-suffering sigh. "I can never say no when you ask so nicely. Very well, I shall. Now I do hope you didn't just come to quibble semantics. I'll be ever so cross with you."

Pleased, Marr's eyes crease in amusement. "I'm still searching for a rational explanation myself."

"Rationality!" Vowrawn trills and bristles like a puffed-up bird. "On my birthday? Perish the thought." He gives him a petulant look but then his eyes lower to his rebreather and his expression softens. Golden claws trail along Marr's jaw and come to rest on both sides of Marr's rebreather. Vowrawn tilts his head questioningly. 

Marr's breath hitches. "Someone may hear me."

Vowrawn smiles and tugs him down until their foreheads touch. "Then speak softly, my dear," he murmurs.

Marr sags, the tension slipping from his posture with perfect ease. He gives a short, barely perceptible nod and a warm breeze caresses the entirety of his face as Vowrawn detaches his rebreather. 

"There you are..." Vowrawn croons, cupping Marr's cheek with one taloned hand. "If you're going to leave the mask at home, you might as well go all out."

Marr chuckles and covers Vowrawn's hand with his. He presses his lips against his naked palm and holds it there as his eyes hold Vowrawn's. "Old habits."

Vowrawn's thumb traces the line of his lips and Marr's eyes fall shut as he presses a reverent kiss against his golden talon. The fondness in his eyes is matched if not exceeded by Marr's own. There is no doubt in his mind that his heart sits plainly on his sleeves and Vowrawn only confirms it with a deep kiss. 

After nipping Marr's lower lip, Vowrawn breaks away with a playful smirk. "Trying to up my hello, are we?" he drawls. "How rude."

Marr's mouth twitches. "My apologies. Hello, Khomir."

"And hello to you, Darius. Come here often?" Shameless flirt. 

"No, actually," Marr says dryly. "You have never brought me here before." 

"Well that's because I don't live here."

Marr frowns. "No?"

With a smile, Vowrawn indicates the balcony door where Darth Ananta's voice (followed by the frightened squeak of a clarinet) carries out on the wind. "Auntie generously offered to host my birthday party in her home. I declined. Naturally, she saw fit to do so anyhow. All wrapped up as a 'surprise' just for me." 

"You didn't want a party?"

"I'm afraid the glamour of the high life lost its shine on me. Ages ago really. I'll play host once in a blue moon but then you meet the same faces, the same politics, the same vultures..." Vowrawn sighs dramatically. "Such is the burden of fame and obscene wealth." He looks most put out by his Very Grievous predicament. 

Marr gives him a look of disdain for form’s sake but he finds himself pressing even closer to Vowrawn. Vowrawn's gaze softens and he loops his arms around Marr's waist. 

The pitter-patter of Kaasi rain beats a steady rhythm on the glass awning, blending with the sultry brass timbre and jaunty staccatos that trail outside. Vowrawn chuckles. "Trust auntie to whip them into shape." He hums along to the saxophone and begins to sway and Marr moves with him. He tucks Vowrawn's head under his chin, breathing the spiced scent of his cologne, while he gazes out to the glittering Kaasi cityscape. Lights dart through rain slick streets and traffic lanes, colors streaming in circuits. In the distance, the Citadel stands majestic hugged by rolling fog and mountains. 

For one moment, all is still and silent and all that matters is the familiar weight pressed snugly against him. 

His eyes drop a little lower and he notices the upward curve of Vowrawn's mouth against his jacket. Marr hides his own smile in Vowrawn's hair. They rock back and forth to the music in quiet contemplation.

Suddenly, Vowrawn shudders and murmurs something incomprehensible. 

Marr wants to pretend he doesn't hear it, to draw out this moment even longer, but something in his tone strikes a chord. Reluctantly, he draws back just enough to look down at Vowrawn's downturn head. "What is it?" 

"So sorry," Vowrawn says softly. "I really wasn't serious about the message."

"You... want me to leave?" 

Vowrawn shakes his head.

"You sincerely believed I would not come?" 

Vowrawn nods slowly after a pause. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out to tap Marr's pendant and then touches its twin. "This is my family crest."

"I figured as much," Marr says curiously. "I took it as a memento. Isn't it?"

Vowrawn still does not meet his gaze. "Somewhat."

Marr cocks his head, concern coloring his words. "Have I caused offense? Your family have been treating me strangely since I arrived." So far he has seen heraldry stamped on everyone from toddling children to elderly Sith Lords and while there had been similarities-- often strong similarities in designs-- until now he believed his pendant was unique.

Disquiet settles heavily in Marr's stomach as Vowrawn keeps silent. "Speak plainly."

"There are only two such pendants in existence," Vowrawn says reluctantly. "They are granted to the heads of my House." He traces his thumb on the pendant's raised shapes. "This belonged to my father."

His father? 

Marr touches his own pendant. "This was your mother's?" Comprehension strikes him like a bolt of lightning and he goes very still. "Khomir."

Vowrawn smiles nervously and looks up at him through his lashes. "Darius..."

Every thread of conversation from the whole evening unspools and slithers around his mind, tightening and weaving into a simple truth, staring him in the face as Vowrawn does now, and he can barely breathe. "Have you let me wander about wearing a symbol of matrimony?" Marr asks in a low voice.

"As I said..." Vowrawn's voice goes tight. "I did not believe you would come."

"Your family thinks I'm your husband."

"I hadn't-- that is to say, I didn't intend that necklace to be anything more but... but..." Vowrawn stammering. Marr would mark the day for posterity if the shock didn't creep up and kill him later.

"What then?" Marr demands, clutching his pendant. "What were your intentions when you gave this to me all those years ago?"

Vowrawn musters a halfhearted smile and runs his hands down Marr's front, lightly petting. "Breathe, Darius," he says. "You are agitated. And who can blame you? Having come all the way here only to contend with rabble." He tugs Marr towards the couch but Marr might as well have turned to stone. "Don't be a killjoy. Why don't I go and fetch you a dri--"

He slips out from under Marr's arms but Marr snags his wrist in an iron grip before he can flee. 

Vowrawn goes tense but he keeps his back turned towards him, unwilling or perhaps incapable of facing him directly. Just as well. 

"Vowrawn." Marr hesitates when this elicits a flinch. "Khomir," he relents. "How long did you intend for this charade to last? If I did not come here tonight, if I never ventured out of seclusion, would you have left me in the dark as you do with everyone else?"

Vowrawn doesn't answer.

"After all the years we've been together, do I not deserve your trust? Your honesty?" 

Vowrawn remains unresponsive in the tense silence that follows and Marr feels his heart sink. His hold slackens on his wrist and he very nearly lets him go when Vowrawn suddenly speaks. "The Raihz," he says.

Marr frowns. "What?"

Vowrawn's shoulders sag and he finally turns to meet his gaze with a tremulous smile. "I had made reservations at the Raihz that day. The whole rooftop house to ourselves. A view to die for. A bottle of forty-five-year-old red. Twelve course meal. Jatz music. No detail overlooked. No expense spared. But when the time came..." He gives a careless shrug and lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. "I lost my nerve."

Marr stares at him. Vowrawn's wrist slips from his grasp and his arm falls limply to his side.

Vowrawn blinks and looks away, his hands coming together to fidget with his rings. "You did more than take it," he says. "You wore it. In the privacy of our strongholds, yes, but you wore it and I was content. Marriage is--" Another nervous chuckle. "-- I've only ever truly known it as another business transaction. Why should I need a document to tell me what I already know? Nothing need change."

His face crumples when Marr still doesn't respond.

"I am a fool..." Vowrawn mutters sullenly. "I ought to throw myself off this bloody balcony instead. I'd make a better jam spread than a husband. Maybe auntie will bottle up my remains in a pretty glass jar. With my luck, she'll chuck it in the ocean. The harpy."

Marr releases a shuddering breath, the corners of his mouth twitching. "That won't be necessary." 

"No?" The desperate, hopeful look in his eyes invokes a flutter of sensation just behind Marr's ribs.

"I am not terribly fond of jam," Marr says gently. "And I find myself quite in love with the foolish husband I have right now."

Vowrawn's mouth snaps shut with an audible click. For once, there is no quip, no easy laugh. He searches Marr's face for any hint of jest but Marr holds his gaze unflinchingly.

"Oh," Vowrawn says in a small voice. "I see."

"Oh?" 

Vowrawn releases an odd, stuttering laugh. "You already know how I feel, Darius. Does it really need to be said?"

"It would mean a great deal to hear it from you, Khomir," Marr murmurs. 

Vowrawn twists his rings anxiously. He averts his eyes but he takes a deep breath and trains them on Marr's face, his chin held high. His gaze is heated, intent, but behind such bluster Marr discerns something else-- uncertainty. Bashfulness? 

"There is no other man alive who holds a candle to you." Vowrawn speaks in an impossibly soft voice. "You excite me. You enthrall me. You... have caught me unawares!" He laughs, skittish as a spooked animal when Marr cups the back of his neck. His skin warms at his touch and when he looks into Marr's face-- oh, his _face_ \-- to stand in the spotlight of such ardent affection... 

He melts. 

"How I adore you!" Vowrawn whispers, slinging his arms around him, and burying his face in his wool turtleneck. Marr has the audacity to chuckle though Vowrawn's grievances are swept neatly under a rug when he bends to kiss him.

Vowrawn almost pops to his toes to meet that kiss halfway. It is a near thing. A terribly near thing. Fortunately, Marr is dressed handsomely for the occasion and Vowrawn simply hooks his fingers under his folded collar and drags him down, kissing him with a desperate fervor, posturing be damned.

Only reluctantly do they break away to catch their breath.

"As birthdays go..." Vowrawn pants softly against his lips. "There is room for enjoyment after all. You have quite a gift for persuasion, Darth Marr. I'd love for you to employ it more often. Preferably in my bedchambers."

A ludicrous idea crosses his mind. Perhaps it is the vertigo. Perhaps Vowrawn has rubbed off on him. Perhaps he's gone mad. "Wouldn't you like to open your gift sooner?" Marr asks.

Vowrawn's eyes widen and he draws back. "You brought me a gift?"

Marr pauses. He locks eyes with Vowrawn and keeps his expression devoid of all emotion as he indicates the bulge in his trousers.

Vowrawn stares, silent and stunned. Then his face scrunches. A noise like a whistling tea kettle bursts from his lips and he lets out great peals of laughter as he falls back into his arms, cooing "darling" and "dearest" and "sweetheart" with every kiss he plasters on Marr's face. Giddy as boy at his first carnival, he hooks his claws into Marr's belt loops and tugs him urgently to the door. 

"Now?" Marr says bemused. "Where?"

" _Yes._ Guest room. Fourth door on the left."

"Your party--"

"My party, my rules."

"Your... ah... gift?" Marr's breath catches in his throat when Vowrawn skims the tips of his claws along the outline of his cock. "Khomir, I can't return like this."

Vowrawn heaves a sigh and draws back entirely. "Shall I fetch you an ice pack? How about a distraction? I'll flex my thespian muscles and play drunk. Anything to keep those eyes off my _tremendous_ gift."

"Ten minutes," Marr promises. "And I will follow."

Vowrawn gives him a little moue. "I was starting to warm up to it."

"Khomir."

"Very well. Ten minutes." Vowrawn reattaches the rebreather to Marr's face and cannot resist pecking the smooth metal over his mouth. "And not one minute more." He takes moment to flick his hair into place and smooth the front of his tunic before sauntering inside. There is the tiniest bit of hurry in his step. 

Marr watches him leave with a fond smile, his hand curling around his necklace.

 _His husband._

Maybe he has gone mad.

But at least they both are.

Marr glances furtively at the door before he does some quick geometry with his trousers. He paces around the balcony thinking long and hard about the empire.

It is easily the longest ten minutes of Marr's existence. 

He keeps his hands fisted in his pockets and ducks back inside. Across the room, Haskrai is engaged in animated conversation with an irritated Ananta when her gaze inexplicitly drifts away. Marr locks eyes with her. Her brow raises and her eyes briefly look upwards as though praying for strength. She skates her fingers along her shoulder as though dusting her blouse but Marr takes the hint. _Run along and play now._

On another day, in another world, Marr would rather be struck dead by lightning than face the promise of ridicule. 

Now?

He could give less of a damn.

The guest room door slides apart with a whisper and Marr steps inside, only distantly aware of the locking mechanism activating behind him as his attention draws to the center of the room.

Vowrawn reclines upon a chaise at the foot of a luxurious canopy bed, clad in a black satin robe, cupping a snifter of brandy in his hand, and affecting a lazy but domineering countenance. His outfit is nowhere to be seen but his clawed rings and his sash are neatly arranged on the bedside table. Right beside a tall bottle of lubricant. 

Marr's gaze trails along Vowrawn's body hungrily, and he feels his eyes upon him, watching him like a predator in repose. Vowrawn is uncharacteristically quiet and, as though reading his mind, he chooses that precise moment to shift his legs and Marr realizes with a hot jolt of excitement that he is naked under his robe. 

Marr hastens to close the distance, his cock stiffening in the confines of his trousers, but he comes to a screeching halt directly in front of Vowrawn when the man arches his brow. The rebreather clatters across the floor as Marr rips it from his face. A restless energy quickens his blood and fuels his growing need but years of conditioning keeps Marr's head bowed and his hands to himself. His hips stutter when Vowrawn reaches out grope his bulge, examining it with the air of an amused connoisseur before his gaze flicks upwards. 

"There you are..." Vowrawn purrs. "I feared you'd fallen back into their clutches. Now wouldn't that have been disappointing? You would have left me here with nothing but myself to play with all night..." 

Marr groans softly as Vowrawn parts his legs, exposing his erection and already slick hole. Damnation. Ten minutes. Ten minutes and Vowrawn had gone and indulged himself while Marr fussed for naught. Vowrawn's cruelty knows no bound. Marr can do nothing but suffocate in his suit and watch. Vowrawn wraps his lips around two of his digits, cheeks hollowing as he sucks them wet, and Marr's knees nearly splinter at the sound of Vowrawn's moan when he sinks them into his arse.

"Mm... that does feel lovely," Vowrawn sighs. "You'd love a taste, wouldn't you, darling?"

 _Yes._ Yes, _please._

"Or would you prefer to spit me on your fat cock and ruin me utterly?"

_Yesyesyesyesyes--_

Vowrawn sips his brandy, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice as much as Marr's barely restrained lust. His fingers slip out his body and he reaches out to palm Marr's cock through his trousers again. "Poor thing. So hard and already dripping." Setting his snifter down on the precarious curve of the armrest, he takes hold of Marr's hips and draws him closer. He mouths the outline of his cock, roving his tongue over the damp fabric for a taste, and he smiles when he hears a helpless moan above him.

"You've been so good to me." Vowrawn's voice flows over him like warm honey. "I do believe it's time to unwrap my gift." 

Marr very nearly weeps when Vowrawn finally-- _finally_ \-- snaps open his trousers and lets his cock spring free. His legs tremble badly so he braces against the bedposts. Panic grips him when he realizes his error but Vowrawn blessedly ignores it. Marr breathes a sigh of relief. Acting without a command would have cost him an orgasm, a punishment more cruel than any whipping, but the agonizingly slow strokes on his cock is a close second. 

Vowrawn hums. "Tell me what you want, Darius."

"Please..." Marr croaks. "Your mouth..."

Vowrawn laughs and flicks a finger over the head, spreading the leaking fluid. "Shall I recite a limerick? Sing a song? I can do quite a few things with my mouth, darling. Be specific."

His ears burn hot with embarrassment. "Please suck my cock." 

"Certainly. After I finish unwrapping." Vowrawn smoothly rises to his feet and begins the slow, excruciating process of undressing him entirely. By the time Marr steps out of the crumpled pile of his clothes, his skin is ablaze. 

Vowrawn's eyes rake down his sculpted body, greedily drinking his fill. His fingers toy with the necklace still hanging from Marr's neck. A deep, primal sense of possessiveness curls around Vowrawn's heart and he leaves it be, dropping his hand instead on the tight curve of Marr's arse. He gazes up at him through shuttered eyes. 

"On the bed," Vowrawn purrs. _"Tout de suite."_

The bed concaves under Marr's bulk. When he tries to prop on his elbows, a firm but gentle hand comes down to push him flat on his back. His muscles tense when cool glass touches his stomach and, upon raising his head to investigate, Marr stares at the half-empty snifter of brandy sitting there before looking up at Vowrawn imploringly. 

Vowrawn smiles. "Indulge me, Darius. You know how much I love testing your patience."

"What is it?"

Vowrawn glides his finger along the rim of his snifter and the glass sings at his touch. "I want you to keep from spilling this," he says. "Not one drop."

Marr's eyebrows nearly touch his hairline. "While you--"

"While I suck you off, yes." Vowrawn's eyes glitter with mischief. "Can you do that for me, darling?" 

In these games they play, Vowrawn is fond of his little challenges. He loves to see how far Marr will bend. Another man might not have the patience but to Marr, the heady sense of anticipation is addicting and he flourishes in adversity. They both do. And yet in these intimate moments with Vowrawn, Marr has never known greater relief. To be free of his armor, his inhibitions, the weight of an empire in these short hours...

Marr nods and swallows thickly as he watches Vowrawn kneel between his legs. 

Marr yields to the gentle touch on his inner thighs and parts them, mindful of the snifter as he plants his feet on the mattress. Vowrawn takes his hard length in hand and opens his mouth and Marr spies a glint of Vowrawn's tongue piercing before his cock is engulfed in wet heat. His toes curl in pleasure. Vowrawn bobs along the length, taking a bit more with each downward glide, sucking hard every time he pulls back, his clever tongue fluttering against the underside. A purr reverberates in the back of his throat and shoots straight to Marr's groin. The urge to fuck Vowrawn's mouth is almost irresistible but Marr forces himself to remain still. 

Vowrawn's mouth is sinfully good. The bed seems to shift in tandem with his movements and one quick peek confirms Marr's suspicions: he isn't the only one dripping now. Vowrawn ruts against the silk sheets, sensitive skin stretched taut along the prominent ridges of his cock. 

Pulling back with a soft moan, Vowrawn swirls his tongue over the crown, lapping up the fluid seeping from the slit and pulling a grunt from Marr, then he sinks all the way down and swallows him down to the root. His throat massages his cock in a velvet vice and-- _fuck_ \-- it visibly bulges as his cock disappears past the wet seam of his mouth again and again. 

Marr snatches the bedsheets in a white-knuckled grip. 

Vowrawn's slick fingers venture behind his sac and Marr moans helplessly when it thrusts into him, sending ripples through his body and in the brandy. _The cheat!_ Marr doesn't have the heart to complain. The heat of Vowrawn's mouth compounded with the pressure on his prostate stirs Marr's arousal to such incredible intensity. He is close. He is _so_ close-- oh, fuck-- _fuck_ \--

Vowrawn's mouth suddenly slides off his cock with a wet pop and his ministrations halt. 

Marr practically sobs. The snifter wobbles on his stomach as tremors wrack Marr's body. He struggles to compose himself but cannot stop his hips from rocking into Vowrawn's slick fist. Vowrawn's reprimanding look is brief but Marr's response is almost instantaneous. His fingers tighten on the sheets and he takes several deep, shuddering breaths before his hips go perfectly still.

Only faint ripples in the brandy betray his fraying control.

Vowrawn plants a kiss on the head of his cock, a small reward and reminder. "You'd think I'd properly broken you in by now," he hums. "Why, I'd almost think you were being cheeky with me. Are you such a glutton for punishment, darling?"

Marr doesn't respond, too busy counting his breaths. 

Vowrawn tuts and promptly wrings a choked gasp from him after squeezing his cock "I'm addressing you, Darius."

The snifter rattles on Marr's belly but remains in place. He only shakes his head. 

"No? You're not misbehaving for my benefit?"

Marr shakes his head again and grunts in pleasured pain when Vowrawn twists his wrist just so. 

"Lying to a professional liar, hm? Whatever am I to do with you?" He crooks his fingers, savoring Marr's low hiss. "Perhaps I'll leave you strapped to my bed while I attend to my guests; leave you with a toy to keep that lovely cock nice and stiff upon my return... or maybe, just maybe..." Vowrawn's voice dips into a purr. "I'll deign to fuck you. Would you like that?"

Marr's cock throbs in his hand, signaling his interest.

"It has been some time since we've done it, I'll admit. You made a pretty picture bent over my desk. It was a rare treat."

"Is... is that what you want?" 

"Is that what _you_ want?"

Marr tilts his head back and exhales. He shifts his stance, grunting softly as he sinks deeper onto Vowrawn's fingers. _"Yes."_

Tucked away inside his armor, Marr is as cold and implacable as a statue. Here, now, Marr's body speaks volumes. So long has he hid behind a mask, he is not versed in schooling his face. Such naked pleasure and desperation in his expression is almost enough to stall Vowrawn's mind and it fans the flames of his arousal like nothing else. Like nothing ever will. 

"Splendid," Vowrawn breathes. He dives back between his legs with gusto. His strokes grow faster, more insistent, and he swirls his tongue with each pass, until the knot of tension in Marr’s belly winds tighter and tighter and the sheets tear at Marr's fingertips as he spills into Vowrawn's mouth with a shout. 

Vowrawn draws back and swirls the viscous fluid in his mouth for a moment before plucking the snifter from Marr's quivering stomach. He chases down Marr's spend with a pull of brandy and lowers his glass with a dreamy sigh. "Exquisite." He thumbs a stray droplet from the corner of his mouth and laps it up, smirking as it elicits a weak moan. "Well done, Darius. High marks for endurance... but low marks for decorum. Poor auntie will pitch a fit when she sees the state of her linens."

"My... apologies..." Marr manages through his harsh panting. 

Vowrawn tuts in mock disapproval and reaches for something as he sets down his snifter on the bedside table. "Well, there is one way to keep your hands to yourself." His grin peeks over a familiar piece of cloth. 

He settles above Marr, straddling his middle, and reaches for Marr's hands. He winds his silk sash around his wrists and begins to work. Marr cranes his neck upwards to examine the elaborate knot forming above his head, shifting a little against the bed sheets as he does so.

“Lie still,” Vowrawn says distractedly. He makes one final loop and ties the ends to the bedframe.

Marr tests his restraints, surprised when it holds secure. “You've been practicing."

Vowrawn's mouth quirks into a half smile. “Always prepared.” His fingers travel up Marr's body and splay over his chest, feeling his pulse thundering under his fingertips. His voice slings a pitch lower, gentle and soothing. "I would never endanger you."

Marr exhales, the muscles of his face subtly tightening. "I know."

Vowrawn kisses him softly. "You must trust me, Darius."

"I do."

"Tell me our safe word."

_"Qorit."_

"Again."

_"Qorit."_

"Very good." 

Vowrawn shuffles back to take up position but pauses to consider the myriad of piercings that adorn his cock. They make a pretty picture when he bounces on Marr's lap and they feel delicious when toyed with but it has been far too long since they've been used like this. It is far from their first time but somewhere along the way they fell into a routine. Both of them are unpracticed. He could fuck Marr raw like this, piercings and all, pushing him to unfamiliar heights, and Marr wouldn't say a word.

Vowrawn knows never to underestimate Marr's stubbornness. Marr will suffer any and all onslaughts quietly, weighing his own pleasure secondary to Vowrawn's, and that had ultimately come at a terrible price. Marr's trust comes so readily now. More precious than anything in Vowrawn's possession. Never again will he ever abuse it.

"What are you doing?" Marr watches him extract a condom from his robe and tear it open with his teeth. 

"Just preparing, darling." Vowrawn smooths it down his cock and slathers it with a generous helping of lubricant. 

"I can take it."

Vowrawn snorts and hooks his arms under Marr's knees, dragging him closer until their hips meet and the sash pulls taut. "I know I make it look effortless but I've had a great deal of practice. You, of all people, ought to know."

"But--"

"No buts! Well..." Vowrawn smirks and gives Marr's bottom an affectionate pat. "I'll permit this one." Too easy but it is well worth it to see Marr's disgruntled look and it dashes any other protests in one fell swoop. 

Marr sucks in a breath as he presses against him.

Vowrawn ducks down to press a kiss inside his knee. "There, there..." he murmurs. "You are far too precious to me to risk any greed." He pushes on, guided by his expressions, and resolutely strokes Marr's cock.

Marr's breathing deepens and his eyes fall shut.

Vowrawn keeps his eyes trained on his face, searching for any hint of discomfort when he nudges him open. He starts slow enough, briefly closing his eyes to relish the initial tightness, but Marr shies away when he feels the raised ridges along his cock. Vowrawn knows ways around that and before long Marr rocks back, his hands tightening and loosening, tightening and loosening on his silk bindings.

Satisfied, Vowrawn grips Marr's taut thigh and fucks him in earnest. He tests the angle, willing to put aside his need to find the perfect method to maximize pleasure, and it doesn’t take long to find that shallow thrusts please Marr more. A fine sheen of sweat coats Marr's dark skin as he writhes and gasps.

The sight, the feel of it, has a greater impact than Vowrawn anticipated. His heart brims with adoration and a deep lingering pride. Marr trusts so sweetly and bends so beautifully and there is no greater satisfaction than the surrender of a proud, powerful man. Vowrawn has been with him for decades now and in these wonderful, heated moments it takes him back to their early days, prowling around each other, filing each other's edges, and the sex... 

The sex still feels as good as their first time.

Vowrawn is reluctant to leave the grip of Marr’s body but he aches to be filled and Marr's cock sits hot and heavy in his hand, straining for release and so ready to give. He carefully slips himself free, making sure to check for the signs of injury, when a noise gives him pause.

A threadbare whimper. 

Tremors wrack Marr's body as he squirms on silk sheets. He wheezes, half choking on breath and those sweet whimpers. Desire is etched in every line of his face and his eyes are so darkened with arousal only a thin band of slate-blue can be seen. 

Vowrawn devours the sight and clambers over Marr's body, swooping down to steal a kiss before he impales himself on his thick cock. He rocks his hips and sinks deeper, eager to feel the full measure. "Don't move," he pants. "Do you hear me, Darius? I don't want you to move."

The body beneath him trembles as he presses open-mouthed kisses under his jaw. Vowrawn tastes the salt of his sweat soaking his body, can feel the tightly wound restraint in his muscles. He kisses away the tears springing from Marr's eyes and slants their mouths together, letting him taste his submission.

Marr's strength is overwhelming. It would be to break free. It would be easy to seize Vowrawn and conquer him. 

He does not. 

He obeys. 

Because Vowrawn has asked him to.

Marr falls to pieces in a shock of ecstasy, gasping and half sobbing in relief as Vowrawn fucks himself wildly on his cock, pendant bouncing on his chest, and even then, Marr is beautifully obedient, lying back in tortured need, hips refusing to budge as Vowrawn wrings out his orgasm to the very last drop. 

Vowrawn keens and rolls his hips, relishing each hot pulse of heat. He rips the condom off his cock and leans back, bracing himself on Marr's thigh just as his hand curls around his cock. He grinds on the hard lines of Marr's stomach, his thumb smearing the ring piercing the head of his cock, and he chases his own peak with wild abandon. 

Marr groans as Vowrawn rides his overstimulated cock, dragging him to the narrow precipice between pleasure and pain. Vowrawn's stamina seems limitless. His desires are not confined in flesh. He is a proud and beautiful tyrant. Nothing quite fans the flames of his arousal than stimulating his ego and Marr knows this down to his core: Vowrawn loves to make him beg.

A desperate plea burns in Marr's eyes but Vowrawn only smiles and releases his cock to skim his fingers across his chest, his eyes briefly falling shut as he pinches the barbells threaded into his nipples. His body is a gorgeous exhibition, a crimson feast for Marr's eyes to devour but never his hands, never his lips. Not without permission. It's enough to drive any man to madness. 

"Khomir, I... I need..." Marr begs in broken tones.

Vowrawn's eyes brighten. "Tell me what you want, darling."

"It's too-- I can't--"

"You had enough, Darius? Shall I stop?" Vowrawn slowly raises himself off Marr's aching, leaking cock until it slaps wetly against the plane of his stomach and the cool air is agony against his sensitive flesh. A wretched groan rips from Marr's very lungs. His silk bindings threaten to tear in two. 

"Khomir, please! _Please!_ I-- I want to feel you--"

"So needy! And still so hard! Truly the gift that keeps on giving!" Vowrawn laughs and reaches down to seize Marr's necklace in his fist, and Marr arches as sensation crackles down his spine straight to his cock. His eyes nearly roll back in pleasure, barely aware of Vowrawn's lips descending on his as he tugs him up for a kiss but-- _oh, fuck_ \-- Vowrawn is clenched tight around him again and he is speaking, laughing, purring--

"Look at you!" Vowrawn breathes. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" His fingers tighten on Marr's necklace. "Wearing this in front of everyone, parading around the mark of my favor-- how scandalous! How delicious. Do you know, Darius? You've ruined men for me. You're magnificent. You're beautiful. And you're all mine."

"Yours... always..." A plaintive whisper drags from Marr's lips, nearly vanishing in the cacophony of moans and grunts, but it cuts straight through the haze of lust and wipes the smug look from Vowrawn's face. The mask crumbles and Marr glimpses that stark, raw vulnerability again and it is-- it is too much. _Too much._ Vowrawn arches with a cry, his nails digging into Marr's muscular thigh as Marr spills inside him and he stripes Marr's skin with seed. 

Vowrawn's thighs give out and sends him sprawling on Marr's chest, their pendants biting into their skin.

Both are stretched thin to near incoherence. They pant desperately against each other's skin until tremors have slipped from their bodies and fatigue settles heavily on their bones, passion breaking into a drowsy calm. Vowrawn's breath is hot against Marr's ear as he mumbles endearments in Old Sith, the words tapering off into nonsense as he droops. 

They fall quiet. 

Idly, Marr wonders if Vowrawn has fallen asleep but then Vowrawn starts to squirm. He props himself on Marr's chest. "Being the birthday boy is too much hard work," he complains.

Marr chuckles and tries to reach for him only to remember the state of his hands. Vowrawn plucks at his bindings until silk unravels and the rush of blood sends pins and needles under Marr's skin. Sensing his discomfort, Vowrawn slides their sticky bodies apart, hissing as Marr's softening cock slips free, and curls beside him. He takes both his hands into his and massages his sore wrists.

" _Qorit._ One word. Two syllables. Simple." Vowrawn frowns. "How many times must I tell you to use it if I push too far?" 

Marr makes a soft dismissive noise.

"Darius."

"I am fine. I've endured much worse."

"You know, I have compiled not one but two conjectures regarding your arse and stabbings--" Vowrawn yawns. "-- but I'm too tired to say them. You're welcome."

Marr rolls his eyes. "My thanks." He shifts, pillowing his head with a huge hand and wrapping his arm around Vowrawn's waist. Vowrawn throws his leg over his hip, draping over his powerful body like a cat in a patch of sunlight and snuggling deep into his embrace with the clear intent of never emerging until dawn. Marr kisses Vowrawn's damp hair and stares up at the ceiling in contemplative silence. He listens intently to Vowrawn's breathing and does not speak until he feels the smaller body go lax. 

"Are you asleep?" Marr asks softly.

A soft huff in response.

"Khomir?"

"Not anymore."

"Our absence will be felt."

"It'll take more than a rough and tumble to keep their interest," Vowrawn says dryly. He heaves himself back onto Marr's chest and smiles down at him, blinking owlishly. "Auntie will make our excuses. She'll twist my arm about it later but we can depend on her discretion. Don't worry your pretty head over it." 

Marr's cheeks warm when Vowrawn plants a kiss squarely on his bald spot. 

"Don't," he mutters.

"Hm?"

"Don't treat me like a fool. I know it looks absurd."

Vowrawn furrows his brow. "What are you talking about?"

"My... state. The state of my..." He gestures vaguely to his head.

Vowrawn's eyes go wide as saucers and his teeth clamp down on his lower lip but there is no mistaking the mirth in his eyes. "Oh, _darling_..." His voice trembles with barely suppressed laughter. "My _poor_ old boy. Does it really still upset you?"

Marr purses his mouth into a hard line.

"It's dignified!" Vowrawn threads his fingers through tight gray curls and Marr begrudgingly leans into his touch. "Why, it's like your very own crown! If you desire to fill in the gaps then I will simply requisition hair transplants. If, for whatever reason you choose to be rid of it-- well! You have my seal of approval regarding your shapely dome."

"You're mocking me."

"I am being entirely sincere! Honestly..." Vowrawn chuckles and presses their foreheads together. "You shall grow older, as worn and cragged as a mountain and as saggy and spotted as auntie's roast and I will still think you the most handsome man in the whole galaxy. I love _you_."

Marr's eyes soften. "Thank you." 

"I would still fuck you then, too," Vowrawn adds with a wicked grin. 

A boom of laughter bursts from Marr's lips and Vowrawn's posture slips in surprise. He watches in wide-eyed awe as Marr shudders and gasps through choked laughter and he etches Marr's expression to memory.

The smile has not left Marr's face by the time he settles. "I believe I've found the reason for embarking on this folly."

Vowrawn snickers. "Because you feared my arse would upset public relations?"

"No," Marr murmurs. "Because you are worth celebrating."

Vowrawn goes very still. For a moment, Marr cannot hear him breathe.

Suddenly he emits that odd, stuttering laugh again and claps a hand over his grin. "You hush! You'll make a maudlin fool out of me. I have a reputation to uphold!"

Marr's thumb strokes the jut of Vowrawn's hip soothingly, affectionately. "Then may I offer my deepest apologies?"

"Denied," Vowrawn says with a haughty sniff. "I will accept no apologies at this time. Only satisfaction."

"I see." Amusement colors Marr's voice. "I would hate to be cause of such enmity between us. What would you have me do?"

"I'll begin by making an honest man out of you, Darius Lutholi. Properly." Vowrawn hums contentedly. "How long has it been now? Ten? Fifteen years? No matter. My birthright is already in your possession. As is my heart. Keep them close to you always and handle with care. They are impossible to restore when lost."

Marr nuzzles his hair. "I will endeavor to be worthy of them."

Vowrawn's eyes crinkle in amusement. "You always were." He catches his face in his hands and kisses him softly.

* * *

_Epilogue_

From: Shivara Ashadzu  
Subject: MY GREAT(EST) UNCLE 

Thank you SO much for everything! I can finish school, wear a brand new uniform, hit people with my new training saber, and go to all the special events! I'll be more than ready for the Sith Academy! Maybe I can be your new apprentice when I'm older! You are so clever and so generous and obviously the most handsome Sith in the whole empire! 

Can I have a nexu? 

PRETTY PLEASE! It's very important! Eslucia Nil has one now and she has been IMPOSSIBLE to live with. I promise I'll train it, bathe it, and feed it only the best meat. Like laev and brog and maybe Eslucia's face. I really need one right now. It's for my future!

Your most loving great-niece,  
Shivara

* * *

From: Darth Vowrawn  
Subject: FW: MY GREAT(EST) UNCLE

Now look what you've done.

K.

* * *

From: Darth Marr  
Subject: FW: FW: MY GREAT(EST) UNCLE

Pot, meet kettle. 

D.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Qorit_ : "End" (in Old Sith)
> 
> "Khomir" is Vowrawn's nickname. His first name is "Sutekhomir'akh-Kûskjen'ari-zhor-Qorai" and he will thank you not to use it. Ever. Never mind his full name.
> 
> He ran out of space to write on the marriage license.


End file.
